


Soldier With A Soul

by readrofbooks (friendlyghost)



Series: Christmas Fic(lets) 2013 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Introspection, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:42:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyghost/pseuds/readrofbooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson reflects on his life a year after Sherlock falls. Spoilers for the Riechenbach Fall, but none for s3 (that I know about). The Major Character Death tag refers solely to Riechenbach, promise!</p>
<p>A Christmas present for <a href="http://sunday-is-void.tumblr.com">Sreya</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldier With A Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'All These Things That I've Done' by The Killers.

"I believe you, you know." Mary says softly. You look up at her. She's wearing a robe and slippers, holding a cup of coffee—about to go to bed, probably.

 

"Believe me about what?" you ask.

 

"Your friend, Sherlock. If you say he's not dead, then I believe you." Mary smiles gently and walks over to kiss you on the cheek. "I'm going to go to bed, love. You'll come in a bit?"

 

"Yeah, of course," you say. Mary walks into your bedroom and closes the door behind her.

 

You sigh and rub your eyes, setting down the newspaper you were reading. Mary may believe you when say that Sherlock is alive, but you aren't sure that you believe yourself.

 

* * *

 

 

It's been a little over a year since Sherlock Holmes jumped off of the roof of St. Bartholomew's, and John Watson's—your—life has gone a little like this:

 

Therapy sessions three times a week for the first three months, and twice a week for the next three, and once for the next six. Working as a doctor in a hospital for veterans. Moving out of Baker Street once the lease is done. Visiting Mrs. Hudson on a weekly basis after said move. Meeting Mary Morstan after four months, dating her after four and a half. Moving in together after seven more. Nightmares getting worse and better and worse and better. Sharing a bed (not necessarily the sex, mind you) with Mary helps. Celebrating Christmas with Harry and Mrs. Hudson and Mary and Greg Lestrade (but not Mycroft). Trying to move on. Failing to move on.

 

Looking up sexuality spectrums during your break at work. Deciding that you’re biromantic and heterosexual. Discovering that Sherlock was (is) most likely on the asexual spectrum somewhere, and might be aromatic as well. Realizing that you were (are) in love with Sherlock Holmes. Wondering if you'll be able to move on now (you aren't).

 

Telling Mary about Sherlock and all of your adventures together. About the text you received less than a week ago on Sherlock's old phone (from the contact with that ringtone) that reads, _"He's not dead yet."_ Trusting Mary enough to tell her that you believe that Sherlock lives. Not believing yourself.

 

Making new friends with doctors and ex-patients at the hospital. Still talking to Greg and Sally Donovan and some other members of Scotland Yard, but not hearing a word from Mycroft. Knowing that Mycroft is watching you and not caring. Being in love with Mary, who is wonderful and real and there for you in all the ways that Sherlock wasn't, but at the same time loving Sherlock Holmes, who made your life interesting for the first time after Afghanistan.

 

Remembering the little details about Sherlock—the way his hair curled and that dumb scarf and coat he always wore (and the way it looked on him). The sharpness of his cheekbones, the way his eyes contained galaxies. The way he played violin for days and his dumb habits with food and things that made you say, _"No, Sherlock, that's not an acceptable science experiment."_ The things his goddamn voice did to you, and the way you refused to acknowledge them until too late. How different Mary is from him, how much safer your life is with Mary.

 

* * *

 

You sigh and fold your newspaper up, laying it on the coffee table. You stand up and stretch, then retrace Mary's path into your shared bedroom. She's already asleep, curled up under the blankets on her side of the bed. You hang your robe up on the back of the door and slip under the sheets on your side. You lay there, almost wondering how long it'll take you to fall asleep tonight.

 

(The answer is not long at all, but you are asleep too quickly to remember that.)

**Author's Note:**

> [Sreya](http://sunday-is-void.tumblr.com), I hope this fic makes you feel better (at least temporarily, anyways). Merry Christmas!
> 
> I still can't believe I actually wrote this.


End file.
